


through the overgrowth

by 0neType



Series: light the path home [5]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dreamtale, Alternate Universe - Underverse, Angst, Arguing, Banter, Betrayal, Confessions, Crown Lore, Fighting, Gentle Kissing, Grinding, M/M, POV Alternating, Penetrative Sex, Pining, Post-Underverse, Reconciliation, Restraints, Romance, Rough Kissing, Sibling Incest, Smut, Storms, Tension, Tentacles, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:46:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27588355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0neType/pseuds/0neType
Summary: Dream tries and tries and tries.One last time.
Relationships: Cross/Dream, Dreammare, Nightmare/Dream, Sans/Sans (Undertale)
Series: light the path home [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1489694
Comments: 89
Kudos: 275





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS IT—THE FINAL PART OF THIS SERIES! ✨
> 
> The way I've got it planned, it should be three (or four, max) chapters long.
> 
> Please enjoy! We're nearing the end now :")

Waiting is uncomfortable.

Cross hasn’t been around any of these monsters in ages, betraying them when it became clear that working with them was no longer the path he needed to take. Being amongst them now like he’s never left is an off feeling. In particular because none of them act like this is any different from normal.

Immediately upon his entering the dining hall, beyond a little muted surprise in the way Horror raises his brow, clearly taken aback that he’s actually joining them for a meal, there’s little to no reaction. In fact, Dust vacates his seat and moves to sit next to Horror, opening up Cross’ ‘usual’ place next to Killer. The smooth exchange makes him stumble a little as he walks, hesitant. Cross supposes there’s nothing that says he _has_ to take the seat Dust emptied but, despite himself, once he starts moving again his body flows on automatic, taking the place that was once his.

As soon as he does so, Killer’s arm winds around his shoulders and tugs him in close. “It’s been a while since we’ve had a proper sit-down meal together, eh, criss-cross?”

“Get off of me,” Cross barks at him, shoving Killer away.

Killer chuckles, dropping his arm but making no move to back out of Cross’ personal space. “Aww c’mon! Where’s the harm in a little team bonding?”

“I’m not on your _team_. Not anymore,” Cross retorts, ignoring the intent way Horror and Dust are listening to his every word. “I’m only here for one reason, and that’s to help Dream escape from this hellhole.”

“Hellhole?” Horror’s deep baritone rumbles, bemused. He raises a browbone at Cross. “That’s a funny thing to call a place that took you in while you were at your worst.”

Killer snickers at that and Cross flushes. His hackles raise, defensive. He has a biting response at the tip of his tongue, but Dust speaks up in that quiet, serious, way of his before he can.

“Dream doesn’t want to leave.”

Cross scoffs, “Just because Nightmare’s magic is weakening him, keeping him bound here, doesn’t mean—”

“There’s no magic,” Dust says, and his tone is almost offended, which is a stark change from his usual apathy. “Dream stays because he wants to. To believe otherwise is to be blind to the obvious affection he holds for Nightmare.”

The words settle wrong in Cross’ gut.

Affection. Hah.

He knows what Dust is getting at of course—he can see it in the way Dream’s eyelights sparkle and dance whenever he talks about Nightmare. He cares for him, that much is undeniable. But that doesn’t mean he’s not being manipulated.

Nightmare has always had a way of taking people’s emotions, whether positive or negative, and twisting them to his advantage. He’s a master at it, a virtuoso playing an instrument he’s finely honed over the centuries. Dream may love his brother, but that’s not enough to protect him from Nightmare’s iron-gripped control.

He’s about to say as much, when he’s cut short by Nightmare himself sauntering in through the doors.

As usual, there’s an air of self-importance that surrounds him, a sort of haughtiness that oozes off of Nightmare in much the same way as the black tar all over his body. There’s a smug curl to his mouth—a satisfied grin that has Cross seething with animosity just upon seeing it. Nightmare notices the abrupt heat of his emotions, if the way he glances triumphantly in Cross’ direction has anything to say about it.

“Cross,” Nightmare purrs, “So glad you decided to stay for lunch.”

“I’m not leaving until I have Dream with me.”

“Of course,” Nightmare allows, inclining his head as if in permission. “But what kind of host would I be if I let either of you leave on an empty stomach?”

“Stop it,” Cross growls, shoulders quaking with his growing anger. Nightmare’s presence is always enough to get the worst of his moods ramping higher and higher. “Stop acting like this is just another day for you. Like everything is proceeding entirely to plan. You know as well as I do that as soon as I show Dream how you’ve been poisoning him, how you’ve been _keeping_ him, _trapping_ him, there’s no way he’ll ever come back.”

Silence, uncomfortable and heavy.

Horror and Dust exchange glances that Cross catches out of the corner of his eye. Killer keeps that manic grin on his face, eager for bloodshed. Every second that passes is another frigid drop in the aura of the room. Through it all, Nightmare simply watches him; single, glowing eyelight narrowed in on him like he can read Cross’ intent based on that alone.

“As usual, you are a whirlwind of untamed emotion, Cross,” he says at last. His tone is deceptively light, though the hard glint in his eyelight speaks volumes of what he must truly feel. “I assure you—whatever it is that you believe about my relationship with Dream only scrapes the surface of what is truly going on. In fact, I think it would be in your best interest to mind yourself going forward.”

Cross snarls at that, slamming his hands down on the table and pushing back from his seat. Before he can say or do anything, however, Killer pushes down on his shoulders and keeps him in place.

“Whoa, slow down there, hero,” Killer says with a huff of a laugh, “As hilarious as it would be to see you get your ass handed to you, I’m actually starving and I’m not about to let you ruin my lunch.”

“Finally some sense,” Horror mumbles, tipping his glass of water gratefully in Killer’s direction. The monster in question winks at him and the whole exchange is so disconcertingly _normal_ that Cross can’t help the way he shivers, snapping at the skeleton restraining him as he attempts to shrug out of his reach.

“Let _go_ of me, Killer!”

“Nah, I don’t think I will.” Instead, Killer strengthens his hold, twisting his arm around Cross’ neck and choking him momentarily. Cross grasps at the arm constricting him, but it’s no use as Killer pulls him in close. His breath is warm and damp as he whispers into the side of Cross’ skull. “Just because Night’s been accepting of you so far, doesn’t mean he’s forgotten how you betrayed us. If I were you, I wouldn’t push my luck.”

Killer’s warning makes Cross bristle. What right does Killer have to order him around? To caution him?

But then… once it’s been said and the words settle in his mind, Cross can only grudgingly admit that Killer is right. He can’t act rashly here. He can’t fuck this up. He needs to put up with Nightmare’s aberrant _requests_. For Dream’s sake.

He grits his teeth, squaring his jaw. While he doesn’t respond to Killer’s unsolicited advice, he also doesn’t put up a fight. Killer notes his acquiesce and lets him go, allowing Cross to retake his seat.

He settles for all of a second before Nightmare’s knowing smirk makes his fury light up. He doesn’t say or do anything with it, but Nightmare’s eye flashes like he knows just how badly Cross aches to make this a physical confrontation. For now, just the strength of Cross’ negativity makes Nightmare’s grin pull wider.

“Atta boy,” Killer whispers as he sits, and it takes all the self-control Cross possesses not to snap at him.

Instead, he forces himself stiff, sitting with a soldier’s posture. He’s mute as Nightmare magics his shadow servants into place and orders them to lay out the table with food. Within short order, the wispy humanoid shapes bow and do as they’re told.

“Aww, look,” Killer coos, gesturing at the meal that one servant lays in front of Cross. “Night remembered your favourite.”

Cross frowns down at his plate. It’s a simple sandwich, two slices of bread with a layer of chocolate spread in between. He can remember with sharp accuracy the very first time he’d asked Nightmare for it, face hot with embarrassment as the others ate more robust meals. Lying hadn’t been an option—Nightmare would’ve known in an instant.

Seeing the stupid sandwich here now… it’s an odd feeling. It’s unsettling to know that Nightmare remembered his preferences. Even more so to see that he’d gone as far as to present Cross with it right now, despite their current circumstances.

He doesn’t quite know how to take it.

He’s saved from having to respond however, when the dining hall doors open once more and Dream stands in the doorway.

For a moment, Cross is rendered speechless by more than just his confusion. Dream looks regal as he steps into the room, though he’s obviously shook through with nerves as he does so. The clothes he’s wearing are plain but obviously expensive, black fabric that nearly shimmers in the dim castle lighting with white embroidery that stands out sharply against it. His signature cape is affixed differently, shoulder to shoulder, brooch pinned to one side, as if Dream purposely set it to accentuate the outfit. There’s a wavering smile on his face as he enters, a slight blush flaring on his cheekbones, golden and endearing. He wrings his hands a little, eyelights darting from monster to monster as he freezes uncertainly a few paces in.

“Umm, hi,” he says weakly.

“The guest of honour arrives,” Dust mumbles under breath, just loud enough for Cross and Horror to hear. Horror chuckles, nudging Dust with an elbow, and yet again Cross is hit with a wave of nostalgia for how things used to be.

“Welcome, brother,” Nightmare says, then gestures at the empty chair to his immediate right. “Take a seat. We were just about to begin.”

Dream nods, his smile a little more solid now that he’s directing it Nightmare’s way. He continues forward, step by step, and Cross watches him all the while, transfixed. When Dream catches his eye, his blush erupts, brightening intensely. Cross wonders at it for only a moment before he remembers what he overheard between the brothers in the hall. Dream must know there’s no way Cross didn’t get an earful. He can feel the way his own face heats, the knowledge of what he did in response resurfacing.

Breaking eye contact, Dream hurriedly moves on, keeping his head down as he finally takes his seat. The moment of quiet as everyone settles is only broken by Killer’s voice cutting in, loud and obnoxious.

“So are we all just gonna ignore that Dream walked in wearing the boss’ clothes or…?”

Cross whips his head back in Dream’s direction, peering over his outfit once more. Sure enough, he can see Nightmare’s symbols all over the cuffs of the outfit, silver and white moons embroidered into the edges. He’d been so glad to see Dream in one piece that he’d missed it at first.

The guardian himself looks further embarrassed, ducking his head lower as the scrutiny of all the other monsters at the table falls on him. Only Nightmare doesn’t seem affected at all, hardly paying attention to the musing as he continues to dig into a meal he doesn’t strictly need to eat in the first place.

As a distant thought, Cross remembers asking Dream about food once.

Dream had admitted that neither he nor Nightmare really _needed_ to eat—that they could sustain themselves on the emotions of living beings alone. It was just… nice, to eat with people. It felt good, like comradery, so it was simply a choice and a hobby. Cross remembered thinking that it was cute at the time; sweet, that Dream would do something he didn’t need to, purely to improve relations with those around him.

Now, watching Nightmare do the same and remembering the countless times he’d done so in the past, he can’t help but think of it as a manipulative and conniving way to force bonds with those under his thumb.

“Eat, brother,” Nightmare whispers, though his gaze shifts in Cross’ direction while he speaks, “You wouldn’t want to lose your strength.”

“I guess we _are_ ignoring it,” Killer sighs, a long, exaggerated sort of thing as he picks up his knife and pokes at the meal on his plate.

And sure enough, the subject of Dream in Nightmare’s clothes, donning his symbols, and bearing them easily on his person, is passed over, the others at the table quickly losing interest when the prospect of food is at hand. Cross’ own soul pulses like a reminder, and after a quick inspection for tampering—one which Nightmare notices, if the smirk on his face says anything—he digs into his meal, satisfying the void of magic that had grown since he first arrived here.

They eat with little interruption. Dream and Nightmare whisper back and forth to one another, Dream pointing at Nightmare’s plate with a curious expression on his face, like he’s never seen his brother eat before. He tries to glean more from their low voices, but Cross ends up dragged into banter with his old teammates instead. It’s a little annoying, but also more than easy to slide into, and Cross finds himself playing the straight man to Killer’s comedian, while Horror and Dust look on and laugh.

Falling right back into old habits.

It seems far too soon when Nightmare pushes his plate away and beckons his shadow servants forward to clear up once more.

Killer leans back in his seat, hands behind his head and balancing on the back two legs. Cross only just barely restrains the urge to knock his chair out from under him. “So what’s on the agenda for today, boss?”

“For us, it’s the usual,” Nightmare drawls, and his teal eyelight flashes bright in Cross’ direction. “Though I believe that there are others whose plans may interfere with my own.”

“Dream and I are leaving today,” Cross confirms.

Dream startles, his easy smile from moments ago wiped away with shock. “What? No, I— Cross we _talked_ about this. I’m not going with you.”

All at once, the placid mood from earlier goes tense. The monsters at the table stare back and forth between Cross and Dream. Cross ignores them.

He also ignores the victorious smirk on Nightmare’s face, visible just out the corner of his vision.

“Dream, please. I wouldn’t insist if it wasn’t important.”

“Cross… it’s not that I don’t understand that but…” Dream is clearly conflicted, his browbones furrowing as he thinks his words over.

From the way things are going—from the way they’ve been going since the minute he got here, really—Cross can tell that unless he does something fast, he’s going to lose whatever chance he has to break through to Dream.

“Let’s take a walk,” Cross blurts, desperate, “In the castle gardens.”

“A walk…?” Dream appears taken aback by the suggestion. He glances in Nightmare’s direction, as if asking permission. It makes Cross’ blood boil.

Nightmare, for his part, stares at Cross evenly from across the table. Cross meets his gaze head on, unflinching. Whatever Nightmare is trying to read off of him, let him. Cross is done hiding.

After a slow moment, the self-proclaimed King shrugs. “If it’s a stroll in the gardens you’re looking for, I see nothing to take issue with. If Dream wants to accompany you, he may.”

Cross bites back a caustic comment about not needing his permission. He reminds himself to keep a hold on his temper—for Dream. He’s so close, he can’t afford to fuck this up. So instead, Cross directs a hopeful grin in Dream’s direction, eyelights lit up and soul pounding in anticipation. Only, Dream isn’t looking at him, instead studying Nightmare’s face in some mixture of concern and thoughtfulness. He fiddles with the edges of his scarf, slow, before at last he turns to face Cross and nods.

“Alright, Cross.” Dream smiles in that infinitely kind way of his, “Let’s go on that walk.”

Cross is up out of his seat in an instant, looping around the table to stand at Dream’s side. Killer passes some sort of comment at that, one that has Horror laughing aloud, but Cross doesn’t hear it. If the sudden tint to Dream’s face says anything though, it was probably something obscene.

“Follow me,” Cross says, though he figures Dream has been in the castle long enough to know the way on his own. Dream doesn’t correct him regardless, simply smiling and nodding and keeping pace with Cross as he turns to leave the dining hall.

Cross keeps his head held high as he passes his old teammates. Dust mostly ignores him, which suits Cross just fine since he’s not looking to reconnect with any of them. Still, when Horror gives him a passing nod as he goes, Cross returns it. Killer makes a filthy gesture with his hands, and Cross glares at him, prompting only a laugh and a wink. Cross darts a careful look back at Dream to gauge his reaction, only to find him not paying attention at all.

Dream is staring over his shoulder at Nightmare, who watches them in return, unmoving and unblinking.

“Dream,” Cross calls, and immediately Dream snaps back at attention, embarrassed at being caught.

“Sorry Cross,” he laughs, awkward, “Lead on, I’m right behind you.”

With a final parting glance in Nightmare’s direction, Cross leads Dream out into the halls and then towards the gardens. No one stops them, and they arrive in short order, walking out from the corridor and into the hanging green archways from which a great expanse of forestry lays beyond.

To call this area the castle gardens is _technically_ incorrect.

What it is, is a genuine forest—large and untamed, which claims one side of Nightmare’s hideaway. The crumbling outer walls of Nightmare’s castle had been no match for the wild energy that lay just beyond his stonework in this abandoned universe. It’s clear that in the centuries that have passed, overgrowth has invaded, taking over most everything in its path. The effect this creates is a lush, beautiful part of Nightmare’s castle; an age old wilderness, unblemished, that grows and spills out the broken walls of the castle in chaotic symphony.

There _are_ paths to walk through, bracketed by greens and yellows and reds, but only in the area contained within the remaining walls, maintained over the years by Nightmare’s shadow servants no doubt. There’s no danger in simply meandering through the area kept and cleared, enjoying the natural greenery. But when Cross looks past the castle grounds, long into the distance where a great tree grows, extending its branches over everything else in the vicinity, he knows there will be no paths to lead him back if he loses his way that far in.

“Listen, Cross.” Dream hesitates, some obvious reluctance to the way he speaks. Cross breaks out of his reverie and focuses down at the monster at his side. “I… _appreciate_ how concerned you’ve been for me. I’ve thought about it in depth since our last conversation—”

Dream breaks here, stuttering. His face blooms in another bright golden glow. Cross’ face heats in response, yet again reminded of just what had transpired after their conversation. Cross wants to look away, a raw guilt eating at him as he recalls his own gasps of pleasure in the aftermath. But he can’t, not when Dream is clearly gathering himself to speak, shaking his head as if to clear out his lingering thoughts, and then looking back at him, determined.

“I’m not going with you, Cross. Thank you so much, truly. But please know that I _have_ to sort things out with my brother before I go anywhere. I’ve made so much progress, and to leave it all now—”

“Why can’t you see how this is hurting you,” Cross interrupts, forlorn, “Please, Dream. Trust me.”

There’s a split-second of frustration on Dream’s face before he smoothes it away. “You keep saying that, but can’t _you_ trust _me_ that I’m fine?”

A silence descends between them, an unfamiliar hardness to Dream’s expression that Cross has never seen before. He has to wonder if this is due to Nightmare’s negativity as well. It certainly makes Dream look like him—more Nightmare’s twin than he’s ever been before this moment. If the negativity has poisoned Dream so thoroughly that it’s started to affect his personality… Cross doesn’t know that words will be enough to ever convince him.

After a moment however, Dream’s expression softens once more and he reaches out to take Cross’ hands in his, stroking them softly.

“I know what I’m doing, Cross. I’m grateful for everything you’re trying to do for me, sincerely I am, but it’s unnecessary. You have nothing to worry about.”

Cross soul pounds. He zeroes in on the warmth of Dream’s hands and the soothing motions of his stroking. It doesn’t make the dawning prospect of doing what he’s going to have to do any easier, but it strengthens his resolve all the same.

“Is there nothing I can do to change your mind?” Cross whispers, feather soft.

Dream’s expression is mournful, sympathetic. “I’m sorry, Cross.”

“Yeah,” Cross breathes, “Me too.”

The confusion on Dream’s face as his words register is palpable, as is his alarm when Cross grips one of his hands tight in his. His free hand Cross shoves into his pocket, pulling out a sky blue thread. He takes one end of the string into his mouth and holds it taut, wrapping the remaining bits around his palm.

Then, he tugs on the string and breaks it.

There’s a burst of energy that cascades over them, waves and waves of rippling power that very nearly knocks them off their feet. It’s due, in part, to the ripping portal that Cross tears into reality in front of them, but a great deal more is from Nightmare’s immediate response to the invasion of foreign magic. Dream’s sockets are blown next to him, shock clear in his expression as the tear rips further, sharp, jagged edges opening up before them.

The glitchy portal stabilizes just enough to expose the whiteness laying just beyond—an anti-void. The colour sets off a sickening sense of nausea within him, but there’s no time to dwell on his fears when Cross hears a shout from not too far behind them. A quick look back shows Horror, Dust and Killer racing in their direction, expressions drawn. Cross knows that means Nightmare’s not far behind.

“C’mon,” he rasps, tugging Dream in after him.

“Wh—Cross—!” Dream protests, but Cross yanks him along. The shock plays to his advantage, Dream’s physical resistance minimal as he continues to try and process what’s happening.

They cram through the portal in a rush, the voices behind them growing louder in malice and agitation. Cross drags them both further, putting a few feet between them and the only entrance to the anti-void, settling into a battle stance. He allows himself only a single flicker of relief as the portal snaps shut seconds later, cutting them off from Nightmare at last.

While that is a definite improvement, the second phase of this plan remains incomplete. For a few seconds, Cross looks around in worry as the whiteness around them continues on into nothing. No sound, no material manifestations, nothing. But then, a single looping blue thread descends from the endless white ‘ceiling’ above them, a paper attached to it.

‘ _Now we’re even_ ,’ it reads in ugly mismatched lettering, like the person who wrote it could barely see.

As soon as Cross picks it from the thread, another portal opens up to them, unfolding in thin air and leading out of the blank space between worlds. Cross nearly leaps at it in joy, excited to be out of the endless white. As it is, he makes to rush towards the portal, and is only held back by Dream finally twisting out of his grasp.

“What are you _doing_?!” Dream cries, an anger in his eyelights that Cross has never seen before—or at least never seen directed at him.

“It’s just a little further,” Cross promises, “Please, Dream.”

Shrill, near hysteric, Dream shouts, “You’re _kidnapping_ me—you’re taking me somewhere against my will and you want me to just _follow_?! How _could_ you, Cross?”

But just as suddenly as it started, the anger freezes out, the fire in Dream’s eyelights dissipating into dull embers. His shoulders slump, his whole form dejected. For one shaky, horrible moment, Cross thinks he might’ve made Dream cry.

“I thought we were friends,” Dream says, quiet and broken.

Cross flinches.

His soul aches, guilt and hurt twisting up within it as he desperately tries and fails to come up with a succinct way to explain to Dream that this is all in his best interest. Nothing is good enough. There are no words to summarise how much time and thought Cross put into this, trying his utmost to make sure he could protect Dream like he’d protected Cross when he didn’t have to.

In the end, all he manages is a simple plea.

“Please believe in me, Dream. Follow me one last time.” He holds his hand out to Dream, standing with the portal just behind him, light shining from the sunshine streaming on the other side. “I promise I’m not doing this to hurt you.”

Dream looks up at him, hurt still evident in the withdrawn way he holds himself. But Cross remains firm, spine straight, and Dream studies his face. He’s not sure if Dream’s reading his emotions—Cross knows he tries not to—but he lingers in his appraisal until, finally, _finally_ , he takes Cross’ hand.

“Thank you,” Cross whispers.

Dream doesn’t answer, looking away in obvious resignation, but Cross doesn’t let that deter him as he takes the leap and pulls them both through Error’s portal.

They burst out into an empty field.

It’s a beautiful day outside, the birds are singing, the flowers are blooming—Cross couldn’t have ever asked for more in this moment. The sky is clear and the sun shines down on them with a radiant warmth. The deep green grass spreads far in every direction, blades long enough that they sway gently in the breeze, the wildflowers dancing among them. In the distance, the sounds of children laughing and playing fills the air. They’re a long way off from civilization, but the general mood and cheer of the universe is immediately apparent.

In his daydreams, it’s always been a place like this that Cross brings Dream to. Somewhere for him to relax. A place where Dream can rest and recharge and spend some time just being himself, with no one but the two of them to see it. No need for keeping appearances. It’s clear to him now that Dream doesn’t feel anything more than friendship for him—not that he himself had been attuned to his own romantic feelings in the first place—but he can’t bring himself to hold it against him. For now, Cross is just relieved to have completed the mission he set out for.

He turns to face Dream, an apologetic half-smile already on his face, and abruptly stops.

Dream is hunched over in the field, an arm clutched around his middle, mouth open as if he’s silently screaming, his sockets wide and afraid.

Cross shouts in a panic, racing over to him. He crouches next to Dream but stops short of touching him, not wanting to exacerbate any unseen wounds. “What’s wrong—what happened—are you hurt?!”

Wordless, Dream shakes his head. His eyelights are blown, wide within his sockets. Every inch of Dream trembles and shivers in a worrying way. Cross’ soul jumps up in his false throat, alarm thick and coursing within him.

“Dream…” Cross begs, “Dream, tell me what you need. Tell me what to _do_ , Dream, I can help you.”

But Dream only shakes his head again, even as tears fill up in his sockets and then spill over, running tracks down his face. It’s agonising, watching him and being unable to do anything. Restless, Cross digs his hands into the dirt to stop them from quivering.

“I-I’m okay.” Dream manages to stutter out between gasping breaths. “It’s… it’s just a lot. It’s a flood all at once and I just—it’s _so_ much—”

“What is, Dream? What’s a lot?” Cross coaxes, confused and still beside himself with worry.

“The positivity,” Dream laughs, his voice ringing through with a deep bitterness. His sockets fill with tears again, glistening bright. “I didn’t—I didn’t realise—I didn’t expect Nightmare would—”

Dream stops speaking, choking on a sob. His shoulders convulse, tears dripping down onto his legs folded beneath him. Dream clutches at his chest, right over his soul, head ducked down like he’s ashamed to look up. Cross’ soul twists at the sight.

“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you, Cross.” Dream’s voice is hoarse, creaking with the obvious strain of pushing himself to speak. “I guess I still don’t know my brother as well as I thought I did.

Dream’s concession does not feel like a victory. In fact, Cross looks at Dream’s curled and struggling form, looks at the tears on his face, looks at the sheer pain in his expression, and struggles with the knowledge that he facilitated it.

All at once, the niggling reminder of Nightmare’s genuine surprise at Dream’s weakened aura bursts like a firework in his head. With a sinking soul, he recalls the true confusion Nightmare had displayed upon realising Dream hadn’t left the castle since his very first arrival there, and of Nightmare’s anger at being accused of poisoning his brother.

Slowly, carefully, Cross puts his hand at Dream’s back and smooths it up and down, reassuring him as best he can.

He wonders, quietly, if he did the right thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~I still haven't gotten to the comments from last chapter yet, but I'll be sure to make time during the week to do so ;w;~~ DONE! 😩💦 Please don't hesitate to leave me your thoughts on this chapter as always because they Fuel and Sustain me 😌👏


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the first (and last, heh) chapter from Nightmare's POV 🖤
> 
> Finally, a little insight into what everyone's favourite tentacle monster has going around in that head of his. 😌✨💦

Dream hasn’t come back.

It’s been days, verging on _weeks_ at this point, and there’s been no sign of his brother anywhere. Nothing of him trying to ‘port back to Nightmare’s castle, and no sign of him in any of the surrounding universes he might arrive in to catch Nightmare’s attention. It’s… disappointing.

Nightmare hasn’t fully ‘changed the locks’ so to speak. He’s altered the code of his world only slightly, just enough to bar both Cross and Error from reentry despite their current ongoing truce, but nothing that will hinder Dream. Nightmare kept it open to him.

There’s no way to go tracking Dream down through the multiverse. Wherever Cross took him blots Dream out thoroughly in a blur of positivity, hidden from Nightmare’s view. There’s nothing he can do but wait for his brother to make the next move. It’s a troubling prospect, but when Nightmare thinks of Dream’s days in the castle prior to Cross’ arrival—thinks of their quiet talks, thinks of Dream’s patient smile, his relief at being together again, his soft laughter—he… wonders. If maybe that will be enough to bring him back.

He doesn’t like to call it hope, but it burns within him all the same.

In the meantime, his crew grows thoroughly annoying. With every day that passes with no word from Dream, the more Nightmare finds consoling glances thrown his way. Even Dust looks at him with some measure of pity, and it’s absolutely infuriating. Nightmare’s let it slide for now, especially since none of the idiots have actually dared to bring it up with him directly, but if he finds one more meat pie left outside the door to his study, reeking with Horror’s condolences, he’s going to have to break something.

Or someone.

It’s bad enough to hear Killer deliberating on how to deal with Cross the next time they see him, reassuring Nightmare that they’ll pay him back twice over for his betrayal. Nightmare doesn’t even want to think of Cross. It enrages him. Not because Cross took Dream away, no, but because Cross noticed a change in Dream before Nightmare ever did.

He hadn’t known that Dream was growing weaker. Cross’ accusation had been the first Nightmare had heard of it.

He’s always embodied far more negativity than his brother could match with the opposite. Nightmare is dense with it, his aura quite literally dripping from his bones. In contrast, Dream has always felt weaker; a low burning fire just out of his line of sight.

So when that fire had started wisping out, Nightmare hadn’t noticed. Yes, Dream was tired more often, yes, he rarely used his magic, but for Nightmare—who hadn’t been around his brother so casually for centuries—he had no basis of comparison to tell whether this was something out of the ordinary for Dream or if this was just his usual state. Certainly Dream himself hadn’t seemed worried about it, so Nightmare had waved it all away into the back of his mind.

Of course, once Cross had brought it up, Nightmare had been quick to look into it. Nothing happened in this castle without Nightmare’s say so, and he wasn’t about to let some mysterious illness of Dream’s be the first. Upon inspection however, it didn’t seem as serious as Cross had been trying to impress upon him. In fact, from what Nightmare could tell, Dream was simply… keeping the balance.

His castle is mired in negativity, seeped through with it wholly. Upon Dream’s arrival, his brother’s aura was the only available source to fill a void that had existed for centuries. As such, from what Nightmare could tell, the positivity had started to be pulled from him, his aura draining, weakening him as it spread out to the castle and its inhabitants, slowly equalizing them all.

When he really thinks about it, Dream is the reason things have become so lively in the castle—while regular banter and joking are the norm among his crew, there has always been a thread of tension run through all of it. A boundary that warned all those near not to cross. With Dream around, there had been none of that. No strain, no suspicion—a genuine mirth so gently coaxed from them that even Dust smiled from time to time.

He’d assumed the sway in emotions was Dream’s doing from the start of course, but he hadn’t expected it to be quite so literal.

Regardless however, once Cross had brought his… _concerns_ up, Nightmare had made a note of it. He’d studied the situation, and in doing so had noticed that all the positivity that Dream was bleeding eventually fed right back to him, though it was a much slower exchange. So yes, Cross was right when he said Dream was weaker. Yes, he was also right when he said Nightmare was ‘poisoning’ him, though it had simply been due to his aura and had been entirely unintentional.

But so what?

From what Nightmare could tell, with enough time in the castle, balance would eventually be achieved, which meant that Dream would inevitably return to his usual self. In such a case, why did it matter if his brother was weakened in the duration? It’s not like Dream was going anywhere—it’s not like he was fighting anyone or otherwise in danger.

The way Nightmare saw it, so long as Dream was in the castle, there wasn’t much to fear. There was no danger in this world that Nightmare wasn’t intimately aware of. Dream would be safe with him. Nightmare himself would protect him from anything that even hinted at harm.

Still…

He acknowledges that maybe Dream didn’t see it like that. That maybe once Cross whisked him away, he’d managed to convince Dream that Nightmare had intentionally hurt him, even though that’s a blatant lie. He knows that there’s a good chance that it’ll be a long, long, time before he sees his brother again, and that maybe he squandered the one chance they had at reconciliation.

But.

Maybe it’s the positivity Dream left behind, but Nightmare can’t stop clinging to the hope that he’ll come back.

That’s largely why Nightmare finds himself coming back out to the castle gardens every day. The way back is still open, and if his brother is going to return, it’ll be here he comes first. Nightmare muses on this as he looks out into the trees in the distance, the tallest one at its center standing out to him like it always does, a dim nostalgia for the past overtaking him. It’s raining today, heavy and cold, thick droplets that soak the ground and leave it muddy. The clouds gather like a blanket over the little light that exists in his world, dark and grey. From a single look, Nightmare can tell that tonight is bound to get stormy. He can spot faint crackling light in the sky, a promise of lightning and thunder.

“You lied to me,” comes a familiar voice from behind him.

Nightmare does not startle, having felt the tear into his universe seconds prior.

Still, he schools his expression before he turns to face his brother, unwilling to let his relief show so plainly on his face. When he turns, it’s with his expression neutral, meeting Dream’s fierce dual eyelights with his singular one. It’s a mirror to their confrontation that first day that feels so long ago now, where Nightmare had accused Dream of the same. Of lying to him without consideration.

“Brother,” Nightmare greets, casual. He takes all of Dream in with a glance. His brother is back in his usual attire; golds and blacks and accented greens. There’s nothing of Nightmare on him any longer, except the rage that makes him tremble and shake. “You’ve chosen to return, I see.”

“Did you know?” Dream spits, cutting straight to the point.

His words echo in the air around them, or maybe it’s just the way they ring in Nightmare’s head.

Rainwater pelts down onto Dream. He’s quickly growing soaked, standing uncovered under the downpour whereas Nightmare remains shaded. It doesn’t seem to bother him though—hardly seems to register to Dream at all when his eyelights are blazing with such single-minded focus. “Did you know that every day I spent in this world, in this castle, with _you_ , that I was slowly growing weaker?”

He hadn’t known—not at first. But after Cross’ assertion he had. At that point, he could have chosen to share it with Dream, but he didn’t. It’s complicated.

“I did,” Nightmare says, succinct, offering nothing to save himself from the fire he can see building within his brother. He might as well skip the details. In the end, the anger needs to boil over regardless. It’s quicker this way. Besides, Dream’s not really asking; Nightmare can see from his face that he’s already made up his mind about Nightmare’s hand in all this.

Dream cries out, sockets scrunched up and body visibly shaking with fury, “I _trusted_ you, Nightmare! I trusted that you wouldn’t hurt me!”

“You were never in any danger.”

“How can you say that when you _know_ how much this place drained me?! And how could you let this go on for _weeks_ without telling me? I believed in you, Night! I-I thought you’d changed…”

Dream slumps a little at that, his sockets welling with frustrated tears, body still tense. Overhead, the clouds grow darker, the rain falling faster and harder. In moments, Nightmare can see that the tops of Dream’s shoulder and his scarf are wet all the way through. Still, his brother makes no move to get out of the rain, oblivious to anything but their confrontation.

“I have changed,” Nightmare says, quiet in the hum around them, “In more ways than you could possibly ever conceive.”

Dream glares up at him, sharp. “Oh, I know the change you’re talking about. I’ve been hearing about what you’ve done for centuries—spreading ruin, turning your back on who you were—”

“On who I was?” Despite himself, Nightmare bristles at that. “You mean your defenseless big brother? Your _scapegoat?_ The one all the villagers took their anger out on while _you_ continued to be their perfect little angel, running around laughing and making friends. Didn’t bother you one bit that all my bruises and scrapes were caused by the very people that put you up on a pedestal and treated you like a prince.”

Dream goes bright gold, voice twisted in upset and fists clenched tight at his sides. “I didn’t _know_ what the villagers were doing to you! You never told me! I asked, and I asked, and I _asked_ , but all you ever did was _lie_ to me—!”

“Were you really so stupid that you couldn’t piece things together, Dream? Or was it easier to just pretend that everything was fine?” Nightmare scoffs, ignoring the tears spilling down his brother’s cheekbones. “But of course you think it was up to me to explain things to you. It’s always on me to initiate, to take responsibility. Whether it’s an explanation, reconciliation, or sex—you always need _me_ to take charge. All so then you have someone to take the blame when that inevitable guilt hits you, isn’t that right, brother?”

Dream flinches, colouring further at the reminder of how he’d turned Nightmare down that afternoon in the study. He shakes his head, droplets of rain shaking off of his crown, the first clap of thunder ringing in the air as he speaks.

“Don’t try to turn this around on me.”

“Wasn’t this always about you in the first place? How hurt _you_ were when you found out I’d never told you about the villagers? How devastated _you_ were when I chose to make a stand and fight back against their viciousness. How crushed _you_ were when I changed into someone you didn’t recognise and made my own place in the world; a place without you.” Nightmare laughs, humourless, unyielding even as his brother trembles like he’s about to fall apart. “It’s always Dream, Dream, Dream.”

The infuriated roar that escapes from Dream is unexpected, as is the way his brother takes out the bow strapped to his back, manifesting an arrow and pointing it in Nightmare’s direction. In quick order, he lets the shimmering beam of positivity loose, shooting it out at Nightmare who dodges out of the way, stepping out into the rain as he does so. The arrow lodges itself into the pillar behind him, slowly fading and fizzling out, but Dream doesn’t hesitate even a moment before forming another and another in quick succession, firing them off one after the other at Nightmare who easily side-steps out of their way.

They’re not evenly matched.

This is Nightmare’s territory, negativity incarnate. There’s only so much positivity here for Dream to draw on to make his arrows with in the first place, most of which he himself spread during his month-long residence. Once it’s gone, it’s gone. Then Dream will have no arrows and, more importantly, no way to make a portal out of here. All Nightmare has to do is wait him out.

It’s only a matter of time.

Nightmare ducks out of the path of another two arrows with a speed borne of practice. The third and the fourth are taken care of by his tentacles, snapping up to knock them out of the way. It burns where they touch, but he knows from experience that it’s far better to bat the arrows away than to have them impaled into him. The rain pelts down on them, the clouds crackling with light and the growing rumble of thunder, and still Dream doesn’t let up, driven by whatever wild manic energy has possessed him.

“What’s wrong, brother?” Nightmare taunts, “Is it so painful to have your selfishness laid bare to you? Does it ache to see the truth of how you’ve twisted the narrative to keep yourself in the spotlight? A Brief Collection of Nightmare’s Trauma: Starring Dream.”

“Shut _up_!” Dream snarls, rain dripping down the curve of his mouth and chin. His extended arms drip as well, under-gloves soaked through with water.

“Why?” Nightmare seethes, “Is it so difficult to come face-to-face with what I went though? To know how much worse I had it? To know that even after conquering those who sought to tear me apart, I almost lost myself in the process?”

The rhythm of the rain beats to his confession, Dream’s face as stony as it was when Nightmare had trapped him with raw, untamed magic all that time ago. “While you were safe in stone, I spent a _century_ fighting the corruption within myself. I spent an inordinate amount of time not quite sure where the darkness ended and I began. And it took me months and months of torturous thought before I realised we were one and the same.”

Nightmare races to the side, further arrows narrowly missing him as he winds in around his brother, like a hawk circling its prey.

“I was alone, Dream. Scared and angry and in utter agony as my whole being altered itself. It took me _years_ to stop festering in the sort of hatred that called for me to kill anyone who so much as approached me. And you…? You left your stone encampment into the arms of friends. Into the welcome embrace of people who _helped_ you. All this while I had only just found myself again and learned of what I’d have to do in order to make sure no one took advantage of me ever again.”

“You’re a fool if you think it was _ever_ that easy for me.” Dream cries, his arms trembling with the weight of his bow and his eyelights glassy with his tenuous grasp on his emotions.

“Well I certainly don't think it was _hard_ ,” Nightmare drawls.

And all at once, Dream stops. Disbelief coats his expression, awestruck as he stares at Nightmare. He lowers his bow, chest still rising and falling with exertion. Cautious, Nightmare draws his tentacles back, waiting.

Dream’s phalanges shake as he reaches up to clasp at his brooch, fingers shrouding the white star from view. “You have no idea what I went through.”

“Oh, I have some,” Nightmare responds, flat.

“ _No_ , you _don’t,_ ” Dream says, angry, hurt, furious—all emotions Nightmare drinks down with ease. Still, it’s a little hard for him to be smug when Dream rips the brooch from around his neck, his cape—the very cape Nightmare gave him so very long ago, the same one Dream had been bereft without only days ago—falling to the wet earth beneath him. The brooch follows shortly after, tumbling to the ground as it falls from Dream’s open palm.

“I’m so tired of this,” Dream laughs, broken and bitter. Nightmare watches, transfixed as his brother reaches up towards his crown and takes it off, holding it tight in his trembling hands. “I’m so _sick_ and _tired_ of dealing with this _same_ bullshit for _four hundred **fucking** years_.”

Lightning flashes through the sky above them, thunder following shortly after, loud and cacophonous. The brief flash of light illuminates the golden crown as Dream turns it over and over in his hands. Then, with a yell like something shattering within him, Dream flings it with all his might into the forest. Frozen, stunned, Nightmare watches the relic shrink and disappear into the darkness, far, far within the congregation of trees.

“You want to know what it was like for me, _Nightmare?_ ” Dream seethes, and for once Nightmare doesn’t interrupt. “You want to know what it was like to come out of a century-long stasis and feel that disorientation when, by all accounts, only a minute of your life has passed?

The wind picks up around them, cold and harsh, whipping the rain at their faces until it stings. Nightmare doesn’t move. He doesn’t take his eye off of Dream for even a second.

“Every part of me was still aching—every part of me still thought I was in that moment forever ago—losing my brother, losing everything that had ever mattered to me,” Dream shouts, hoarse, “But you know what? I wasn’t sad. I wasn’t upset in the slightest.”

Nightmare frowns, browbones drawing together at that. He’s unsure whether this is supposed to be mockery meant to prod at him, a reckless and emotional jab. But even in his wild, unfamiliar state, that wouldn’t be like Dream, and Nightmare waits for an explanation.

“I _wanted_ to be, but I _couldn’t_ ,” Dream yells, slapping at his chest hard; two solid, wet smacks, right over his soul. “I was overflowing with this newfound positivity, you see? With this hope and joy that I couldn’t get rid of, that wouldn’t shed its grasp on me long enough for me to mourn the loss of _everything_ that had _ever_ been important to me.”

Nightmare’s own soul pounds hard in his chest, Dream’s words spiraling in his head as he tries to piece together what his brother is telling him.

“I lost you, Night,” Dream manages to gasp out through the beginning of a sob. “But I couldn’t shed a single tear, no matter how much I ached. I couldn’t even process the absolute loneliness and terror of losing my other half. A whole multiverse opening up to me, but no family to speak of. This soul inside of me only let me hope, forced me to smile and wish for the best, made me push all my inhibitions down, down, _down_ until it was buried so deep it took me _decades_ before I unearthed it again. It took me years and years before I could finally tame this new part of me enough to cry for the very first time—cry for you, for me, for all that we lost because of a _stupid_ apple tree and awful, ruinous, mortal greed.”

Dream is crying in truth now, tears flowing freely down his face, mixing in with the rainwater that’s long since washed him through. He wipes his tears on his sleeve, but it doesn’t help when the fabric itself is waterlogged.

“You were _everything_ to me, Nightmare. You can say I chose this, when I chose to eat the apple, but I never wanted to be this—this _beacon_ that everyone turns to, that everyone expects to save them, to help them, to make them feel good. It’s an extension of the same expectations that were smothering me back in the village, long before I even _had_ an aura to influence people with. I resent it, and it took me years to even be able to say that with any modicum of true negativity within me. So if it were up to me, Night? I’d give _anything_ to just be the two of us again, like we used to be. I miss that. I miss it so much. So don’t tell me that this was _easy_ , because it sure as hell didn’t feel like it.”

Dream stops speaking, breathing heavy, staring at Nightmare while his body shakes all over. The way he looks at Nightmare is pleading, like all he wants is to put this all behind them. And while it’s not like Nightmare to speak before he thinks, the moment prompts it from him, startled and unfiltered.

“You can’t actually expect me to believe you’d throw away the life you built to go back to our closed off world and a single tree to our name.”

He says it because he himself can’t imagine wanting that. He can’t imagine going back to a time when he was powerless and weak, where no one looked twice at him unless it was to mock or sneer or throw things. He couldn’t imagine wanting the days where their universe was restricted to one world with its same, tiring people, when a whole multiverse lay just beyond their reach. He couldn’t want those lonely days, where when Dream wasn’t around, he didn’t have anyone else.

He loved— _loves_ —Dream, but he would never go back.

It’s impossible to explain all those complicated thoughts in the short time it takes for Dream’s expression to twist.

“You don’t care,” Dream whispers, in a choked sort of wonder. “You don’t care about me at all.”

And then, before Nightmare can correct him, before Nightmare can say anything at all, Dream takes his bow back in both hands and then sears magic down the middle of it, tearing the weapon into dual blades. With a yell, he charges at Nightmare, and it takes every reflex he’s built up over the years to dodge the attack. Dream follows it with another swipe, and another, each charged with a bitter abandonment. His emotions make his moves easy to read, he’s sloppy, not carrying himself with the grace he usually does, and Nightmare deflects hit after hit with each of his tentacles.

“I love you,” Dream cries, “I’ve _always_ loved you. But you never—”

He can’t finish his sentence, a sob working its way out of his throat and another heavy handed blow just barely missing Nightmare.

“ _Enough_ ,” Nightmare growls, patience worn thin.

With a great thrum of power, his aura expanding all around them, Nightmare extends his tentacles. He graples his brothers wrists within them, squeezing hard until Dream yelps in pain and drops his blades with a pained wince. When Dream struggles, kicking and twisting in his grasp, Nightmare surges forward, tackling Dream, chest to chest, and taking him down.

Dream’s back hits the mud with a wet slap. His struggle doesn’t stop, shaking and yelling as Nightmare continues to keep him pinned. Nightmare increases the pressure, gritting his teeth, pressing Dream immobile beneath him, his limbs trapped by a tentacle each and his body held down by Nightmare’s own.

When Dream is finally unable to do anything to free himself, he laughs; an ugly, unhappy thing that sounds nothing like the brother Nightmare knows.

“You win, Night. You win.”

Nightmare prepares himself to bite off a retort—to tell Dream all about just what he thinks of this ‘victory’—but there’s an explosion of light from the center of Dream’s chest before the words tip off of his tongue. Nightmare has to fight the urge to recoil, averting his gaze as a dazzling golden glow breaks through the haze and rain around them, all centered at the crest of Dream’s chest. He knows what he’ll see before he even turns back to look, but his breath catches in under his ribs regardless at the sight.

It’s Dream’s soul—every golden inch of it utterly exposed.

It hangs untarnished in the air, right above his clothed sternum, the magic welling up strong and bright. Every curve and dip of it is familiar, a copy of the corrupted thing that rests in Nightmare’s own chest. It’s entrancing in every way, and Nightmare can’t help but stare, teal eye fixed to it.

“Go ahead,” Dream bites, hateful and morose, “Take it. Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?”

There’s a hunger growing in Nightmare’s body, an urge that’s difficult to control. Because he _has_ wanted this, for so long, for years and years and _years_ when he was lost within his corruption. To have the golden apple laid bare to him now is an impossible gift, one that very nearly has Nightmare salivating with eagerness. It’s as if all his senses narrow in on the apple and nothing else, his soul pounding in beat with the soul in front of him.

It’s a struggle for Nightmare to remember Dream. It takes an insurmountable amount of effort for him to peel his gaze away from temptation and shift to his brother’s face just beyond it.

Dream is smiling, small and sad, like he’s ready and willing to give up everything at last.

Nightmare refuses to let that happen.

He surges forward, knocking his mouth against Dream’s, kissing him hard. All the while, he makes sure to keep careful distance between himself and the exposed soul underneath him, not wanting to accidentally touch and corrupt it. He leans into the kiss, forceful, swiping his tongue into Dream’s mouth when his brother parts it with a gasp. He tastes Dream’s anger and hurt and betrayal on his tongue, sharp and bitter.

Once the initial shock passes, Dream retaliates, biting Nightmare, kicking and pushing underneath him. Nightmare doesn’t let that deter him, ignoring the sting and pulling Dream’s tongue into his mouth, sucking on it and dragging his teeth along the surface. Dream groans, automatically bucking up into him and Nightmare uses it to his advantage.

Keeping his brother pinned in place with his tentacles, Nightmare snakes a hand down between them, rubbing at the front of Dream’s clothed pubis. His brother bucks again, struggling against Nightmare’s hold and biting him once more. Nightmare pulls back only long enough to soothe the hurt and then descends upon Dream’s jaw, licking and nipping at it in turn, making his way down until Dream’s neck and then grazing his teeth along the bare bone in a manner that has Dream’s magic grow warmer under his touch. Nightmare sucks at his vertebrae and Dream gasps aloud, his magic forming hard under his bodysuit.

Nightmare’s own magic forms in response, eager at the feel of Dream under him. He rocks his body against Dream’s, their erections rubbing up against each other. Nightmare returns to Dream’s mouth, kissing him deeply, and this time Dream meets his kiss with equal enthusiasm.

Dream’s soul sparks bright between them, his emotions on display. More clearly than ever, Nightmare can read his desire, his regrets, his affection. And all of it runs through with a faint layer of hope that refuses to fade. Nightmare wonders at that—thinks of what Dream said about being unable to mourn him.

Thinks it’s foolish and short-sighted that he’d never even considered that Dream might be plagued by single-sided emotion much in the same way he had been, following the consumption of all the apples. One for his core, his soul and essence, and the rest to break apart and reform his body, which Dream had been spared.

They hadn’t used to be like this.

Far from what the villagers of centuries past believed, neither Nightmare nor Dream had been able to directly influence emotions back then. They couldn’t feel them either, as oblivious to other people’s feelings and auras as anyone else might be. Their sole purpose was to guard the tree and its apples, nothing more or less.

It was only upon consumption from the Tree of Feelings that they’d been given these powers—more curse than any fairy tale blessing. And if it had taken Nightmare a good century to learn to see beyond a cloud of negativity, it made sense that Dream would have had to work to do the same in the opposite direction.

It’s enough to make Nightmare laugh—this ridiculous round-about way they’ve learned each other’s new forms. They spent so long clinging to the way things used to be, that neither of them were truly ready for what the future had to offer.

Dream’s soul pulses again, this time in line with another rock of Nightmare’s hips. It glows fiercely, beckoning, but Nightmare ignores it. He’s distracted, his brother moaning into his mouth, pelvis rocking up to meet each of Nightmare’s thrusts with his own. Nightmare’s hand squeezes around Dream’s length at staggered intervals, much needed direct pressure after the repeated clothed grinding.

In short order, it becomes obvious that this won’t be enough to get either of them off with any efficiency, and Nightmare longs to get his hands on Dream’s cock. He leans back, breaking the kiss and intent on working their clothes out of the way. Once that’s through, they can get right down to business. In actuality, it works out differently once he sits back up and sees Dream’s face.

His brother looks up at him, cheeks flushed dark and mouth open in breathless pants. Nightmare falters, staring, unable to look away from the display. Dream is beautiful and it aches.

It makes Nightmare want to say something, to speak up, to explain in words this curious thing he feels for his brother. He can see Dream’s soul sparking brighter than ever now, strung through with the strength of his emotions. He can feel them, how fast they race, how tumultuous they are, how unfocused, and yet still desperate for an ending that will make everyone happy.

Nightmare opens his mouth to speak, and thunder drowns him out, booming louder than it’s been since the rain started. There’s a streak of lightning out the corner of his vision, hitting the ground not too far from where they lay, more thunder roaring in the aftermath. Instantly, Nightmare is overcome with a real, palpable fear the likes of which he hasn’t felt in ages—a fear for Dream’s soul, laid bare and exposed to the elements.

His fear, however, is nothing in comparison to Dream’s own. The stench of it curls in around them, rotten and fermented as it strains from Dream. Too late, Nightmare remembers Dream’s age-old fear of storms. Too late he recalls the image of his brother, shaking and shivering, tears rolling down his face while a storm rages around him.

“Dream—” Nightmare starts, a reassurance on his tongue, but the sheer terror in Dream’s eyelights is far blown, unseeing.

His brother gasps aloud in dismay, hands instinctively cupping his soul, dragging the golden light close to his chest and cradling it, fingers trembling in the dark as his soul returns to its place beneath his ribs.

Another streak of light, another boom of thunder, and then suddenly Nightmare is thrown back as Dream kicks away from him, desperately trying to get back up to his feet.

“Dream, wait!” Nightmare tries once more, but the wind kicks up, whistling through the trees, the rain coming down in a rush that blots out all other sound, the storm growing in intensity.

His brother cries out, hands over the sides of his skull, as if that will be enough to deafen the noises around them. He has his sockets squeezed shut, shaking his head furiously and shivering all over.

When the next crash of thunder comes, Nightmare moves towards him, but it’s not quick enough. Dream’s sockets snap open, and they’re filled with such an innate, inborn despair, that Nightmare worries Dream may have lost himself in memories of the past. But before he can so much as call out to his brother, so much as make a single attempt to protect him, Dream turns heel and runs straight into the forest, leaving Nightmare staring after him in shock.

The world around Nightmare quietens, everything narrowed down to the too-fast pulsing of his soul and the rush of magic in his bones. The bright gold of Dream’s cape splayed out on the muddy ground stands out in the dark, almost glowing with light as Nightmare shakily makes his way up to it, picking it up with careful reverence.

The forest is wild—entirely untamed. If Dream gets lost within it, it may take _days_ for him to find his way back. And if he gets injured in the meantime, already weak from all the positivity he used up during the fight…

Like a warning, lightning strikes in the distance, thunder bellowing its might. The wind rages, pushing and pulling at the forest, making it sway. Even this far, Nightmare can hear the dangerous thud as the fierce combinations of the storm fell a tree, its leaves scattering in the air, and ominous silence in the aftermath.

“Shit,” Nightmare whispers, and then races after his brother, into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **ONE CHAPTER LEFT TO GOOO!! 🎉**
> 
> The plan is to get it out before Dream and Night's birthday, so here's hoping it all pans out well 🖤💛
> 
> In any case, this chapter had some parts that I'd wanted to write since I first thought of this fic, so I'm SUPER EXCITED to finally have it all typed up and out there!! :D As always, I hope that excitement made it through and that it was a good read 😌✨
> 
> TILL NEXT CHAPTER, BUH-BYE!!
> 
> ETA: PLEASE. AFTER YOU'VE READ THIS CHAPTER, _PLEASE_ CHECK OUT **[THIS MEME LYRA MADE FOR IT](https://twitter.com/LyraLV1/status/1334273951078490115?s=20)** 😂😂


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ending this fic (and series!!) off with Dream's POV! 💛
> 
> Originally I had planned to get this done before Dream and Night's birthday, but I ended up SUPER FOCUSED on making a birthday animatic for them instead so finishing the fic off got a little sidelined hAHAAA 😂😭 
> 
> But hey, if you haven't seen the video yet, please check it out [**here**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ExeYRW_EGs)!! I had a blast working on it and I'm pretty proud of the outcome :")
> 
>  **ANYWAYS!!** Here's to the final chapter of LtPH!! I hope the conclusion is satisfying :")

The forest passes by in a blur, twigs snapping under Dream’s feet as he runs, mud clinging to his boots and the sickly squelch of earth sticking to the inside of his skull. He shoves branches out of his way, racing wildly, as if he can outrun the storm if he just goes quick enough. The thick foliage blots out his vision, as does the intense dark and the heavy rain that somehow works its way down through the canopy. If there is anything living in the forest, it has long since retreated, leaving Dream alone to face his fears.

Alone.

He trips and stumbles as tears cloud his vision, a sob working its way out of his throat.

It’s been days since Cross stole him away; days since he found out Nightmare had been weakening him, and _still_ his brother’s betrayal bleeds pain like an open wound. Dream trips again, this time falling on his palms and cutting up the soft bone against small sharp stones and broken chips of wood along the forest floor. He allows himself only a moment to heave through another sob, before he forces his body up again and continues running.

Thunder cracks overheard, loud and overpowering. Fresh fear constricts Dream’s soul, wrapping tight around it in a vice grip. He speeds up, pushing faster and faster through the trees, stray branches cutting up his arms in the process. He doesn’t pause, pressing on with a single-minded persistence.

He rubs a hand over his chest, as his soul pounds fiercely beneath his ribs. He thinks of how he bore his soul open to his brother, so sure Nightmare would tear him apart, hurting in his core, but his brother hadn’t touched it.

“Nightmare,” Dream whispers aloud—a reminder, a curse, a mourning.

When he finally breaks out into the open clearing, relief floods through him, his destination within arms reach.

The great tree in front of Dream stretches far, far into the sky above, its branches extending out wide in every direction above him. He’d seen this tree every day since he’d arrived here, the tallest, most visible feature of the forest, clearly sighted from every castle window facing the gardens. It’s a great, lumbering sort of thing; a force to be reckoned with in its own right, no storm capable of bringing it down.

In many ways, it reminds Dream of home, so very long ago. Running around the Tree with Nightmare, sleeping under it, blanketed by the stars. The only thing missing from this iteration is the sharp pulse of a spirit within, a reminder that their mother lived alongside them, though she was rarely strong enough to speak out to them or to take physical form.

Dream walks up to it now, shivering from the cold as the rain on his soaked body sinks further. The shade of the tree near its trunk keeps any further rain from falling on him and Dream shrinks, sagging with relief against the bark. He sits with his back pressed up against it, wincing as more thunder booms through the air, a slow whimper making its way out of his mouth.

He hates this.

He hates feeling so small and scared. He hates being helpless. He hates how hurt he feels, how broken over what Nightmare did to him.

But most of all, he hates that he came here to confront Nightmare and instead he turned tail and ran, like he always did.

It had taken him _days_ to feel even remotely alright again when Cross had brought him to that AU, brimming with positivity. Days and days of relearning how it felt to be warm and surrounded by such a concentrated hit of emotion. It had been tiring, overwhelming, but Dream has done his best to face it all head on.

Those first few days had been the hardest. Besides the pulsing positivity, he’d also had to manage Cross’ incessant worry. It had been kind of him. It had been sweet. But the obvious topic of Nightmare hung in between them, and past what he’s said on that first day on arrival, Dream didn’t want to offer much else.

How could he, when he was struggling with a sense of betrayal so deep that it physically pained him just to think about? Despite the centuries of fighting, despite the years and years of broken bones and callous words, Dream had always believed Nightmare was capable of change—of good. Time and time again he’d shrugged off people’s warnings and reminders of the atrocities his brother had facilitated. What did any of that matter, in the grand scheme of things, if his brother was willing to make amends?

After so many centuries, he’d thought he’d finally made a connection, finally broken through to his brother.

It’s clear now that he was a fool from the start.

He grits his teeth, cursing the unyielding optimism coursing through his body for forcing him to believe that things would always work out. The way things stand, it’s likely Nightmare had never cared about him, even though he’d invited Dream into his castle. All the affection Dream had read into his actions could have simply been his own desire being projected onto his brother.

And yet, that hapless soul that beats inside his chest won’t relieve him of his hope. Despite the staggering evidence presented to him, even now Dream aches for his brother. Even now he loves him in a depthless, unfathomable way, with an intensity that the storm raging around him can’t snuff out.

Even now, he thinks of Nightmare’s soft smiles, so similar to the one he had pre-corruption, shaking his head as he watched Dream fumble his way through life at the castle. He thinks of the subtle, protective warning in his eye, when the rest of the gang’s teasing of Dream verged on the edge of pushing too far. He thinks of the intent woven into the fabric of his scarf, sheltering and strong.

He has a difficult time believing that Nightmare could’ve been capable of any of it without caring for him at least a little.

But then why weaken him? Why betray him like this?

The storm continues, rumbling and raging all around him. Dream squeezes his sockets shut and presses himself into the trunk of the tree at his back as close as he can. A part of him worries that this too is dangerous—with a tree so tall, surely lighting this fierce will strike it? But he’s unable to move away, shaking and shivering and completely reliant on the fleeting comfort of familiarity that the tree provides him.

With a sharp jab of regret, he wishes he had his cape. He had cast it aside in anger, but now without it, he feels undone. He hates being far from it on a regular day—during a storm, the feeling increases tenfold.

He wants its warmth around him, magicked to keep away the cold and the rain. He itches to pull the material over his head, huddle under it, block away the sight of the storm and muffle the persistent sound. More than anything however, he years for Nightmare’s age-old intent woven into the threads, reinforced with the new. He aches for the embrace of it, resting on his shoulders with all the love Nightmare never states aloud.

He wants his brother back.

He wants so hard, wishes so fervently, that when Dream first feels the comforting weight of something warm and dry fall over him, he thinks he’s simply imagining it. But then he catches sight of phalanges, dark and ashen, and his head shoots up.

“Hey,” Nightmare says, quieter, softer, than Dream had ever thought him capable of being.

His brother is soaked through with rain, his clothes sopping with it. It adds further volume to his usual dripping appearance. Dream looks him over like he’s half-asleep, unsure that Nightmare is real and truly standing right in front of him. But the scarf draped over him serves as a physical reminder that this is more than just wishful thinking.

Nightmare holds eye contact with him, firm and unwavering, but there is an inexplicable tenderness lingering in his eyelight. With an equally tender voice, his brother carefully asks, “May I sit with you?”

The question registers slowly, but as soon as it does, Dream finds himself on the verge of tears, sockets filling up and false throat tightening. Wordlessly, he makes room for Nightmare beside him. His brother sits slowly, leaving a good bit of distance between them. Dream draws his cape closer around himself, grateful to have it back, so thankful to Nightmare for having brought it to him.

It’s not easy to hold himself back. The pulsing soul inside of him sparks with fresh hope and an instant wave of forgiveness, but Dream pushes it down; locks it up beneath his ribs. He knows that if either of them are going to gain anything from this experience, they’ll have to control the inherent emotions that force through their bones, no matter how difficult it may be.

Still, when Nightmare reaches into his hoodie and pulls out something shining gold, his soul leaps. He hopes against hope that it’s his crown—the only other artifact from his past that he’s kept on his person for centuries. He’d flung it into the forest in his agitation, but he regrets it, incomplete without it haloing his skull.

It quickly becomes evident that it’s not Dream’s crown in Nightmare’s grasp. While disappointing, Dream concedes that it was likely impossible to find in the storm, the darkness overwhelming even without the rain blotting out the sky. And that’s even if Nightmare made the effort—for all Dream knows, Nightmare spared no thought for it, racing after him instead.

No, instead, in his brother’s hands is _his_ crown. The very item that started all this on a day that now feels like months ago, though it was only a couple of weeks at most.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I kept this…” Nightmare starts, hesitant and soft. He turns the crown over and over in his hands, fiddling with it. Dream doesn’t say a word, watching Nightmare’s thumb run carefully over the crescent moon cut out of the front, trailing the tip of it along the edges.

“I’m sure you’re wondering a lot of things,” Nightmare continues, still not looking up from where he’s toying with the golden circlet. “I can’t promise you all the answers. It’s… difficult for me to come even this far… but I’ll try.”

Dream feels breathless in the moment, scarcely aware of anything but his brother’s voice and the way it cracks as he forces the words out. The black fluid of Nightmare’s body drips steadily, pattering into the dirt beneath them alongside the cold rain, a testament to how severely his negativity must be surging right now.

Nightmare straightens beside him, his hands faintly trembling. He finally stills, no longer handling the crown, leaving it on his lap with his phalanges curled protectively around it. He looks dead ahead as he speaks.

“The years immediately following my ascension—my… my _corruption_ —were difficult. There were lengthy periods of time where I would black out, and once I woke up again, I’d be in a place I didn’t recognise, carnage all around me and no clear memory of how I’d gotten there.” Dream studies Nightmare’s face as he speaks, watches the way his brother’s eye goes unfocused, like he’s lost in thoughts that he can only just barely keep grasp of. “It’s been centuries of course, so everything from that far back is a little hazy now, but I remember the pain with clarity.”

The pause his brother takes is heavy. A silence that’s as grave as the subject they’ve touched upon. Dream’s hand twitches, an urge to reach out and take Nightmare’s hand in his, to comfort him, overtaking him. He clenches his fist tight to keep himself from acting on it. Nightmare doesn’t notice it at all, gathering himself to continue as he tilts his head way up and stares at the treetops.

“It was unique in how awful it was. A feverish heat igniting through my body as my bones cracked and splintered. But instead of blood and marrow, only blackness oozed from me, more oil than salve, setting me further aflame. My mind itself felt fractured, split into whispering pieces that didn’t let me rest.”

Dream shivers, cold in a way that resonates deep in his core. The storm is the only other sound around them, the heavy rain filling each of Nightmare’s silences, punctuating his words.

“I’m not entirely sure how long it was—whether weeks or months or _years_ —before I truly felt conscious again. It was a struggle. I was… tired. It felt better just to sleep, or more so to exist in that murky space just between slumber and wakefulness, but a part of me knew in that moment that if I gave in, I’d never truly wake up again.” Nightmare speaks like he’s feeling the words out, unpracticed. He frowns, browbones furrowing close. “I pushed myself instead. So much had become foggy and difficult to distinguish in the time that had passed—I was afraid of the things I dreamt of. The things I did when I gave into my darkest urges and the blackness flowing from my core. I was afraid I’d forget who I was. So with painstaking effort, I retraced my steps and found myself back at the Tree, desperate for something to help ground me.”

Nightmare glances at him out of the corner of his eye. The glow of it cuts through the dark around them, brilliantly coloured in the muted palette of the forest. “You were there, still encased in stone. It shocked me. Not because I’d forgotten what had happened to you, no. I’d forgotten who you were entirely. Seeing you was a shock straight to this strange new soul dripping in my chest. I had a brother, it reminded me, and it confirmed my need for a proper token to bind my memories to, lest I lose myself to the pull of corruption again.”

Carefully, cautiously, Nightmare lifts his crown up and edges it in Dream’s direction. He holds it out, silent and waiting. Dream searches his gaze but finds no tricks there, only a calm solemnity. He reaches a hand out, draws it from the warmth of his cape, and touches the crown.

For a moment, there’s nothing. An ordinary, if historic, ring of metal, no warmer or full of feeling than it was that day when Dream found it tossed in the back of his closet. And then, he senses the pull of Nightmare’s aura, carefully peeling away layers of magic and secrecy. And then a great tide of things hit him all at once.

The magic is difficult to quantify. Difficult to place. It’s half-formed memories, strong intent, and a rush of emotions more than anything else. Every part of it _feels_ like Nightmare. It’s his smugness; his curiosity; his protectiveness; it’s every day they ever lived together, laughter and melancholy, all wrapped up in short bursts of his aura.

His brother watches him vigilantly, and once it seems like Dream has gotten a proper taste of what the crown has to offer, he says, “This was what I used to ground myself again. Every time the seeping negativity became too much, and that muddy half-sleep hung over me… every time my darker urges and subsequent choices led me down a lightless path… every time I felt I was losing touch with who I used to be, I would hold onto this and remind myself. And, usually, it was more than enough to set me straight.”

When the words settle like silt between them, finally Dream speaks. His voice is hoarse and cracking, strung out from earlier tears and angry shouting. “If it’s so important to you, why didn’t you keep it in a more secure location, instead of shoving it into the back of a closet.”

Nightmare winces. “While it’s whole purpose is to remind me of my origins, recently I haven’t had much reason to use it, and there is… a lot I’d much rather forget, all wrapped up into it’s magic. I suppose… it was my petty method of burying my past in a way that wouldn’t truly ruin me.”

“How long has it been since you last used it? And what will you do with it if it ever becomes expendable to you?” He doesn’t mean for it to sound accusing—obviously if his brother never needed it again, that would be the best possible outcome. It’s just… now that he knows Nightmare still _has_ the crown, it hurts to come to terms with Nightmare never wearing it again.

“As it stands currently, I haven’t needed to use the crown to refresh myself in more than a century. With every year that’s passed, the more skilled I became at taming my darker urges and tapping into whatever meagre positivity remained in me, trying to reset a balance within myself.” His brother shrugs, “I don’t anticipate needing it in the future, but I’m certainly not getting rid of it. It would be foolish of me to give up my one remaining anchor on the off-chance something goes wrong. But until such a day comes, I’ll continue to keep it hidden out of sight.”

Dream nods, understanding but not liking the answer. He stares down at the crown, the old gold unblemished by the touch of time. He rubs his thumb over it reverently.

“... there _is_ one other option.” Nightmare whispers, full of meaning. Dream glances up at him, confused by his tone. He meets his brother’s intent gaze, wary of how evenly fixed it is on him. “You could hold onto it for me.”

Dream blinks, not quite processing. Nightmare takes the opportunity to slowly, gently, pry the crown from his grasp. He looks at it, something decisive crossing his expression before he lifts the crown up and out towards him. Dream doesn’t move, can hardly even twitch as his brother settles the gleaming gold down on his head.

Nightmare nods to himself, satisfied. A soft smile tugs at his mouth and Dream’s soul aches at the sight.

“It looks better on you anyway.”

He can feel the way his face goes hot in the cold air. His blush is scalding, soul hammering away as Nightmare’s touch drifts down and strokes his flushed cheekbone before drawing back.

Nightmare’s crown doesn’t feel the same as his—is weighted differently in a way Dream notices after centuries of wearing his own—but despite all that…

It still feels like home.

Their moment is interrupted by another strike of lightning and the boom of thunder that follows. Dream yelps, clutching his scarf tighter around himself and unconsciously pressing closer to Nightmare. He’s driven by age-old memories of storms just like this one, where his brother held him near and whispered assurances till the worst had passed.

The Nightmare of now stiffens as Dream draws towards him, the moment growing awkward. Embarrassed, Dream looks down and away, fiddling with the edges of his cape, much shorter now than they’d been that first storm centuries ago. A fearful shiver rocks through him as ominous thunder continues to cry in the distance.

After a long, quiet moment, Nightmare’s weight shifts and slides against the bark of the tree, his shoulder leaning into Dream. Surprised, Dream dares a glance back up at his brother, sensing no hostility. Encouraged by the concession, Dream tilts further into him, restraining the urge to curl into his brother’s chest like he once would have. In response, Nightmare’s arm comes around his shoulders and subtly— _protectively_ —pulls him closer.

Dream’s face feels even warmer than before.

They sit like that for a bit, in a mutually enduring silence. They listen to the rain and the wind, tucked under the tree together. Dream can’t help his sigh of relief when Nightmare strokes his arm up and down, reassuring. He buries his face into Nightmare’s side, peeking out only when his brother’s tentacles curl around his shoulders and legs with care, surprisingly soft.

It feels like quite a while before Nightmare speaks again, a thread of confession in his voice.

“I didn’t know what was happening to you in the castle… not at first.” Despite himself, Dream stiffens a bit at that. Nightmare notices. His hand freezes mid-stroke, glancing down at Dream for a moment, before he hesitantly resumes again. “Before Cross arrived with his grandiose accusations, I had no clue anything was amiss at all.”

“And after?” Dream says, quiet, though he already knows the answer. “Later you knew and you didn’t tell me.”

Nightmare nods his confirmation, repeating, “Later I knew and I didn’t tell you. When Cross insisted that I was poisoning you and then presented what he believed to be evidence, it was the first I’d ever considered that purely prolonged exposure to negativity and to… me, myself, might hurt you. I’d been under the impression that so long as we didn’t specifically wield our individual auras with the intent to harm one another, it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“I thought the same,” Dream whispers, “But we were both mistaken.”

Nightmare shakes his head. “Not quite. I looked into it after Cross’ tantrum. I studied your aura and the general atmosphere of the castle. From what I could tell, your presence simply caused a shift in the equilibrium here. When all the latent negativity was exposed to a sudden influx of positivity stemming from _you_ , the world immediately responded by trying to rebalance itself. This meant that positivity would flow out from you into the surroundings—or, more clearly, into the inhabitants of this world. In return, once things were balanced, their newfound positivity would feed back into you.”

“I don’t understand,” Dream says, still trying to puzzle through Nightmare’s explanation.

His brother sighs, but there’s nothing mocking in it. “What I’m trying to say is, although you were getting weaker, you were never in any danger. With enough time spent here, you would have eventually regained the same positivity you put out into the world.”

Dream considers it, thoughtful. “If so, why didn’t you just tell me that right from the start?”

“I suppose… a part of me still hasn’t quite let go of the suspicious side of myself that insists that the less my enemy knows, the better, even though we’re no longer actively fighting one another. Besides, I was confident that there was no harm in keeping it from you when there was no true danger in the first place. You may have been weakened but no one in the castle posed any threat to you. And in the meantime, if something _did_ come up, I would have protected you myself.” Dream soul flutters at that, a squeeze and a pulse that has his breath hitching. Nightmare smiles at him, wry. “Plus… if I’m being entirely honest, I thought telling you the truth would make you eager to leave.”

“Are you saying you didn’t want me to go?”

Dream means it half as a joke, a bit of a tease to lighten the mood. To his utter shock however, a light teal flushes onto his brother’s cheekbone and Nightmare’s eyelight darts to the sodden earth beneath them. “That would be an astute assumption, yes. I was… unwilling to see you depart in any manner that might be permanent. Although, I can see now that in keeping you in the dark, I only managed to succeed in what I had been trying so hard to avoid in the first place.”

And maybe it’s because his brother is so vulnerable right now—maybe because he detects only simple truths from him—but Dream reaches over and puts his hand deliberately over Nightmare’s. His brother stares, first at where their hands rest together, and then slowly up to Dream’s face. Dream can’t manage to say anything to follow the touch up with, no reassuring words, everything still too raw, but Nightmare searches his face and whatever he sees there softens his expression.

He turns his palm over, taking Dream’s hand properly in his. He brushes his thumb along Dream’s knuckles, slow and thoughtful.

“I’ll understand if you want to leave and never return.”

It’s clear that Nightmare struggles to say it, his whole body tense with the words, his browbones furrowed tight. There’s something inherently possessive in Nightmare, a part he’s battled for centuries but never quite subdued—perhaps because it had been a part of him long before his corruption.

It touches Dream that his brother would attempt to overcome something so ingrained in him, all for his sake.

“I want to leave,” Dream says, and his brother flinches, a cold resignation pouring over him. Dream squeezes his hand. “I want to leave without worrying that if I go, you’ll cut me out of your life again. I want to leave and know in the back of my head that you’ll welcome me back whenever I’m ready. I want to leave, Nightmare, and know without a doubt that I’ll always have a home here, with you.”

It may just be his imagination, but the whipping wind sounds a little more withdrawn as he finishes speaking, the storm more restrained. Nightmare is quiet but Dream isn’t worried. He can feel the subtle shake in his brother’s hand where it rests in his, the fine tremor of his emotions. The rain patters against the trees and the leaves, rhythmic.

When Nightmare finally finds his voice again, it’s low and firm but still run through with a sort of stunned wonder.

“I give you my word, Dream. You will always be welcome here.” Nightmare squeezes his hand in return, hot where they touch, turning to face him fully with his eyelight shining clear and bright. “You will always be able to come home to me.”

Warmth blooms in Dream’s soul, warmer than his cape shielding him from the storm and warmer than the heat of their hands pressed together. Facing his brother like this, bodies pressed side-to-side, there’s only inches between them. An urge rises within to close the distance and press his mouth to Nightmare’s, to find comfort in his embrace, in his touch. Nightmare must have the same idea, because he leans in towards him and Dream lets his sockets fall shut. But his brother only presses a soft, chaste kiss to his forehead, just under his crown, before pulling back again.

Dream opens his sockets to Nightmare half-looking away, cheekbones flushed a pale teal. He makes a questioning noise, tilting his head at him.

“Dream,” Nightmare starts, that momentary fluster fading away into a complicated internal struggle that Dream is not privy to. His brother frowns, his mouth curling down, expression conflicted. “It’s not… easy to tame what I am. There are a lot of things I have to push myself to do and to feel—things I have to make a conscious effort for that most people could do at the drop of a hat. Even now, I can’t guarantee that I won’t fall back into old habits.”

Nightmare pauses but Dream doesn’t interrupt. His brother isn’t done yet, his tentacles coiling and uncoiling nervously around them both.

“Dream… I’m sorry,” Nightmare says at last, and it’s like the words wind him. He’s immediately exhausted, his aura dampening and eyelight flickering like it’ll wisp out, like those two simple words took all his energy to speak aloud. “I realise that this isn’t enough to make reparations for centuries of conflict. With the history you and I have… it may be centuries yet before we’ve made amends between us in a satisfying manner. But I’m… trying. It’s just a lot more difficult than I’d like to admit.”

And finally, _finally_ , Dream gets his moment. He reaches out, cupping Nightmare’s face in his palm, stroking a thumb against it. There’s so much he _wants_ to say—‘Thank you’ and ’I forgive you’ and ’It’s okay’—but he knows that right now is not the moment for it, no matter what his restless soul urges him to blurt out. There will be time for that, for all those things, in a future far more balanced than the present they’re in.

He tilts his head and presses a soft kiss to Nightmare’s mouth, lingering, enjoying the closeness of his brother beside him. When he pulls away, Dream smiles. “I missed you.”

His brother looks struck, wonder and disbelief etched into his features. It takes a second before he sags with obvious relief, knocking his forehead against Dream’s and resting it there as he takes a deep, steadying breath. Dream watches his socket shut, his mouth tremble. Nightmare’s expression is painfully earnest as he replies, whisper soft, “I missed you too.”

The storm has quietened for certain, thunder only a distant rumble now and no lightning to be seen in the glimpses of sky they can catch through the canopy above them. The rain is still coming down hard but, more than anything else, it feels nostalgic—reminds Dream of where he and Night first came from; where all of this started.

He shifts in place, adjusting so that he can pull his cape out and drape it over Nightmare’s shoulders as well. It’s a lot smaller than it used to be, but it helps that Nightmare inches in closer, allowing himself to be bundled in with Dream. They lean against each other, pressed close, and holding hands under the warmth and protection of Dream’s scarf. Dream rests his head on Nightmare’s shoulder and as one moment extends into the next, Nightmare rests his own on Dream’s skull. His brother’s tentacles wind in around him, fond and affectionate, absently stroking at his limbs wherever they touch. Dream smiles, enjoying the unconscious display as his brother’s breathing evens out.

Together they wait out the storm.

By the time the sky lightens, Dream is only just barely waking.

He blinks blearily, his face pressed into the side of something warm. It takes him a second to place where he is, and then a second more to realise that he’s curled into Nightmare’s chest. He flushes, suddenly very aware of his brother’s arms and tendrils protectively wrapped around him, even as it grows obvious that Nightmare himself is still fast asleep. His chest rises and falls with breaths he doesn’t need, Dream’s cape laying like a blanket overtop of them and moving with the motions.

In the distance, Dream can hear the call of birds and the rustle of wildlife, all slowly making their way home after the storm. It settles something in him, fills him with a sense of rightness as life fills in all around them. He smiles as he gets up, his scarf sliding down off of him as he does so. Dream stretches out and yawns, body aching all over from the events of last night.

He glances down at his brother, soul warming at how Nightmare looks, sleeping so soundly. His brother’s not normally the type to sleep in, often waking up long before anyone else in the castle does. It’s one of the little things that hasn’t changed about him, even after all this time. Nightmare’s expression is relaxed, more so than it ever is while he’s awake, and it reminds Dream briefly of what he’d looked like so long ago.

He reaches a hand up to his head, touching the gold of Nightmare’s crown. He hadn’t taken it off before dozing last night. He wonders at what it could mean for them both, going forward.

Next to him, Nightmare mumbles something, fast-asleep. Distracted from his thoughts by it, Dream smiles fondly down at him. With a flare of affection, he curls over his brother and presses a kiss to his cheekbone.

“Good morning,” Nightmare says.

Dream pulls back immediately, face hot with embarrassment at being caught in the act. “O-oh—morning, Night!”

Blank-faced, still looking a little sleep-dazed, his brother slowly blinks and sits up. He extends a hand up to his face and rubs at where Dream kissed him. Dream fiddles with the hem of his tunic, flustered as Nightmare’s gaze flicks back to him, expression unreadable.

“H-how did you sleep?” Dream asks with a nervous laugh.

“Fine,” Nightmare responds in dull monotone.

A weird anxiousness bubbles up in Dream’s chest—a ridiculous fear that last night was somehow struck from his brother’s memory; that they’re right back at square one—but it pops all at once when Nightmare turns to him and presses his mouth firmly to Dream’s.

“Relax, idiot.”

The smirk on Nightmare’s face is a little more reassuring, as is the reminder that his brother can quite literally feel his restlessness. It prompts Dream to shyly tap into Nightmare’s own emotions, and the light, untroubled feelings he gets in response relieve him in his core.

“Reassured?” Nightmare asks, teasing.

In lieu of an answer, Dream knocks into him with a fierce hug, tackling Nightmare back to the ground. His brother makes a noise of protest that Dream swiftly smothers with a kiss. He can feel the way Nightmare’s whole aura shivers with it, a positivity of his own, even though it’s not quite the type of joy that Dream is used to reading off of others.

“Excitable this morning, aren’t you?” Nightmare says with the raise of a browbone, to which Dream simply beams at him and presses another kiss to his teeth. He follows it with one to Nightmare’s nasal aperture, and then to his chin and each cheekbone and, at last, his forehead. His brother allows each one in-between a low, rumbling laughter that lights up Dream’s soul like nothing else.

When at last, Nightmare presses at his chest with a bemused request for him to cease, Dream grins and pulls back, leaning overtop of Nightmare with his hands on either side of his brother’s head.

It takes a moment, but it’s obvious when their position registers.

The lazy grin on Nightmare’s face, so unlike his usual stern expression, slips, his browbones furrowing. His hands remain on Dream’s chest, but there’s no longer any pressure to them—no longer any pretense of pushing him away. Dream looks down at him, his brother bracketed by his arms on top and his knees down below. For a brief moment, their eyes lock and Dream sees that same momentary vulnerability that Nightmare showed him the library.

And then, a shutter closes down over his brother’s emotions as Nightmare looks away and makes to push Dream off of him, attempting to get up.

All at once, Dream grabs Nightmare’s wrists in his hands and pins them down to either side of his body, pushing his brother down again. His brother blinks at him, staring with a measure of frustration. Dream can only imagine what he must be feeling, remembering the way he turned Nightmare down the last time an opportunity to switch presented itself.

He can see the way this situation could turn, an otherwise blissful morning turning into yet another fight. But Dream’s tired of that. He doesn’t want all that they went through last night to be dashed away over something so simple to rectify.

It’s as simple as a kiss and, at long last, Dream takes initiative—pressing another kiss to Nightmare’s mouth, more heated than the playful ones from earlier.

There’s an intent to his kiss that Dream hasn’t ever used with Nightmare before, an insistence that he’s usually on the receiving end of. His brother is surprised by it, that much is obvious in the way he goes stiff. But Dream is undeterred, adjusting his grip so he can rub his thumbs encouragingly along the palms of Nightmare’s hands. When the motion does nothing to coax his brother out of his shocked state, Dream gentles his kiss enough to lick at Nightmare’s mouth in askance, humming a questioning noise at his teeth as he does so.

There’s a moment, and then Nightmare relents.

His brother’s wrists go slack, accepting Dream’s hold with an almost grateful resignation. His mouth falls open, Dream easily licking into him and pulling a first, whispery gasp from between his teeth.

The surge of arousal that pushes through him at Nightmare’s deference is unmatched. Now that he’s here, it seems ridiculous to him that he’d passed up on this opportunity earlier. It’s a heady feeling, making Nightmare relinquish control like this, and the knowledge that his brother gave in so readily makes a flare of affection burst like sunlight inside his soul.

“Night, I want you,” Dream confesses, saying the words soft against his brother’s mouth. There’s no holding back anymore, no pretending that this was ever anything he was simply just going along with only for Nightmare’s sake.

No more running away from the things he’s afraid to want for his own.

“You have me,” Nightmare promises, a shuddery, whispery thing, his voice low and breathless.

The sound of it coils in Dream’s pelvis, sets the magic aflame in a thick haze of swirling desire. He rocks his hips experimentally against his brother’s beneath him and Nightmare’s breath catches, hitching on an inhalation. His single eyelight is hooded as Nightmare gazes up at him, his phalanges twisting in Dream’s grip as he repeats the motion.

The forest around them glitters with small rays of sunshine filtering through the leaves, casting them in a warm yellow-gold glow. The ground beneath them is soft, the earth still slightly damp from the storm last night, though their clothes have long since dried. The air is crisp, an earthly scent laced through with subtle floral traces. The tree that sheltered them through the worst of the rain lays at Nightmare’s back, solid and magnificent. Nightmare himself lies beneath Dream, his face flushed and his expression open.

There is nothing Dream has ever loved more in the moment.

“Night.” Dream presses another kiss to Nightmare’s mouth, to his jaw and to his neck. A warm breeze rustles the trees, the sounds gentle in the air around them. Dream continues to kiss down Nightmare’s sternum, a tingling all over his body. “Night—is it okay if I—do you want me to—?”

“Yes,” Nightmare croaks, his voice already wrecked, like just this much was enough to take him apart. “Anything, Dream.”

Dream nods, face still tucked into Nightmare’s chest. “Alright.”

He pulls back up slightly, readjusting his grip on Nightmare’s wrists and taking them both in one palm. He pins Nightmare’s hands above his head, a shiver racking through his brother’s frame at the positioning. With his freed hand, Dream fumbles with the belt at his waist, phalanges slipping uselessly over the cold metal. It’s a relief when one of Nightmare’s tendrils curls around his hand, and another helps work his buckle undone. Dream strokes a thumb against it in gratitude before pushing his tunic off and out of the way.

Nightmare watches him intently as he does so, socket half-lidded and teal magic bright on his face. His mouth is parted, legs open to make room for Dream in between them, and hoodie sliding off his left shoulder in a messy, undone way that fills Dream with a gnawing hunger deep in his soul.

Nightmare has always been attractive in a way that Dream can never quite get his fill of.

It’s easy enough to push his tights down, working them past his hips far enough to allow his magic room to come into shape. When his cock forms in a gleaming glow of golden magic, Dream doesn’t miss the way Nightmare draws in a quick, shaky breath. It’s flattering. It makes Dream want to take Nightmare apart, little by little, all to hear that one sound again.

He works his hand over his cock roughly a few times, unimpeded by the dry pull of it. Especially not when he sees Nightmare’s tentacles drift up to help him, gently prying his hand out of the way and wrapping around his dick smoothly. Dream sighs through a shaky moan as Nightmare’s tendril pumps him, slightly slick and warmer than expected. The wetness helps, as does how gentle and encouraging the touch is. It’s far removed from how Nightmare has handled him before; an uncomplicated feeling that leaves Dream shivery all over.

He reaches towards Nightmare’s shorts, pulling at the elastic from one side while another tentacle uncurls enough to tug on them from the other. In quick order, Nightmare’s pelvis is fully exposed to him, his brother’s magic bright and pulsing. It remains unformed in his pelvic inlet, but is close to snapping into shape that Dream can nearly taste the electric crackle of it in the air.

Eager, Dream maneuvers his hand in between them and works his fingers into the dense, fluid magic.

“A-ah—” Nightmare gasps, and Dream’s head immediately snaps up.

“Sorry—too quick?”

His brother shakes his head, the blush on his cheekbones glowing just a touch fiercer. “It’s fine. It’s just been a while.”

Dream’s soul squeezes tight. It strikes him again how awful it must’ve been for Nightmare to offer himself up like he had back in his study, only for Dream to turn him down. His brother is reserved at the best of times. To know no one has touched him like this in ages… enough to provoke such a strong reaction from him at the slightest of touches…

“I’ll take care of you,” Dream vows, voice rung through with devotion.

His brother can sense it off of him, if the way his blush spreads down his neck is any indication. He mumbles something Dream can’t catch, and then tilts his head up, pressing his mouth to Dream’s in an open-kiss, tongue tangling with his. That, combined with the continuous stroking of Nightmare’s tendril along his cock, makes the heat grow incessant within him, and Dream struggles to stay in control.

Unable to help himself, Dream releases his grip on Nightmare’s wrists, instead drawing both his hands up to cup Nightmare’s face between them and kissing him in earnest, sucking on his tongue. Nightmare’s freed hands fly up to his shoulders, holding him tight, his legs slowly wrapping around Dream’s waist. Dream savours the way his brother moans into him, the sound echoing pleasantly in his head.

He thinks he hears Nightmare gasp out his name when he grazes his teeth against his tongue, though it’s difficult to focus on that when Nightmare grinds up into him and his magic finally snaps into shape, plush and bright beneath him.

“Ohh, Night… you’re beautiful.” Dream sighs appreciatively, much to his brother’s chagrin.

Soul beating excited and fast, Dream reaches down and rubs his phalanges along Nightmare’s slit, face warming at the effortless way his lips part for him, Dream’s fingers easily finding the wetness nestled in between. He pushes one finger and then another into Nightmare in quick succession, drinking down his brother’s gasp as he pumps them and curls upwards towards the sensitive area inside. Nightmare squirms under him, and Dream relishes the way he looks, twisting and turning beneath him.

Once his phalanges are good and wet, he draws them out and circles lightly around Nightmare’s clit, teasing the nub with indirect stimulation that has his brother bucking up into him, legs tightening around Dream’s waist.

“Dream,” Nightmare pleads, quiet and low. It’s a plaintive thing Dream’s never heard from his brother before, the kind of request that winds low in his pelvis and makes his cock throb.

Dream draws his fingers back from Nightmare’s pussy, taking his dick in hand and smearing his wet phalanges over the head and down his shaft. He rocks up into his own grip a few times, then adjusts himself, rubbing purposefully over Nightmare’s open wetness, legs spread, shivering at the slick slide of their magic together. His brother’s fingers dig into his back, tensing and untensing with every glance of Dream’s cock against his clit.

He reaches a hand out to steady Nightmare’s hip, brushes a thumb against it, comforting, before pushing into Nightmare all at once.

His brother makes a noise that’s instantly caught in his throat, his head falling back as his grip on Dream’s shoulders tighten. He can relate—Nightmare feels so good, his magic slick and pulsing around him. Dream gives them both a few moments to adjust, kissing Nightmare’s neck, and slowly rolling his hips in small circles. His brother’s tentacles curl tight, pressing in towards the two of them.

“Mmn…” Nightmare bites back a moan, his eye clenched shut.

A flutter of emotion rises up in Dream at the sight of it. It’s so unlike Nightmare’s usual persona—so much more vulnerable. It tugs at something tender in his soul that Nightmare has chosen to share this part of himself with him.

Once it seems like Nightmare has adjusted, his socket blearily opening to meet his gaze once more, Dream is quick to press a reassuring kiss to his mouth. His brother hungrily kisses him back, arms winding around his neck and holding him close. Like this, it’s easy for Dream to start rocking his hips with real devotion.

“Night,” Dream gasps, his soul overflowing with fierce endearment, “You’re perfect, Night.”

“ _Hh_ —” Nightmare unwinds a hand to throw it over his face, covering his eye.

Dream thrusts into Nightmare in rhythm. The feeling is incredible, hot at every point of contact, his cock throbbing each time Nightmare gasps and squeezes tight around him. On a particularly satisfying thrust, Nightmare moans aloud and his hands scrabble downwards, phalanges digging into the ground and finding purchase against the tree roots. Sunlight dapples Nightmare’s flushed face, mouth open and panting, the only sound at the forefront of Dream’s mind amongst the birdcalls in the background.

It’s picturesque and it makes Dream nostalgic for a moment that never happened before this.

When finally his brother’s tentacles start to writhe on the ground, Dream knows that Nightmare must be close. He’s not far off himself, climbing nearer and nearer to the precipice of release. He brings his slickened phalanges back to Nightmare’s clit, and his brother’s tendrils automatically curl in around his pelvis, dragging him in closer. They stroke at his spine and grasp at his back, encouraging his hips forward for every downward motion of Nightmare’s own.

It’s a simple matter to firmly press and rub against Nightmare’s clit, once, twice, and then his brother arches into him, a soundless gasp on his tongue as he comes. For a moment, Dream is overtaken by just how gorgeous he looks, undone like this. He’s overcome with an urge to kiss him and he follows through, pressing his mouth to Nightmare’s and licking into him as his brother makes tiny, pleading noises into his mouth. Dream moves again, cock throbbing while his fingers continue to drag out Nightmare’s orgasm, flicking over his clit ceaselessly.

The tension breaks at last when Nightmare squeezes around his dick, and then Dream is coming, spilling magic into him. He’s warm all over, hot down to his core, body near shaking with relief. Dream pulls back from their kiss with a gasp and Nightmare takes in a shivery breath.

Several moments pass before Dream sinks down onto Nightmare’s chest, still panting. There’s a blanket of soft joy that wraps around his soul, keeping him high in the moment. Nightmare is warm and inviting beneath him, and a part of Dream wonders if he could curl up against his brother’s chest like the old days—like last night—and fall asleep all over again.

As if reading his mind, Nightmare’s tentacles wind around them both, a protective embrace that coaxes sleep. Dream smiles, settling in. He presses a soft kiss to the side of Nightmare’s face and his brother makes a muted noise of protest. Dream laughs.

It would be so easy to doze off just like this, only their reprieve is broken by the sound of shouting in the distance. All at once, Dream is alert, as is Nightmare who makes to sit up. Dream moves off of him, and the two of them sit still and quiet as they listen intently to the far-off voices.

Within moments, it becomes clear that it’s Nightmare’s crew, all calling out his name and his title as they search the grounds for him. Nightmare groans, pinching at his nasal ridge and Dream laughs again.

“At least they waited until _after_ the storm to go looking for me,” he sighs, slowly getting up to his feet.

Dream follows, carefully standing and stretching out. He picks his robe and his cape up from the ground, dusting them both free of any loose dirt. He affixes the as best he can around his neck without the brooch he threw away earlier. And finally, he reaches up to touch the crown on his head, waiting a moment to feel the answering pulse of Nightmare’s magic from within it before drawing his hand back again.

“Mm, I think we could all benefit from waiting until storms pass before we go gallivanting off into the wilderness.” Dream hums.

“You don’t say.” Nightmare looks at him over his shoulder, his smile teasing in a way that has Dream’s soul flip-flopping in his chest. “Come on. We better go pacify them before all hell breaks loose.”

His brother holds out a hand towards him and Dream only looks at it for a moment before taking it firmly in his own. Nightmare pulls him close to his side, just as the sun finally rises high up enough in the sky to shine directly down on them, golden light streaming from above. It’s only then that Dream frowns, remembering all at once that this is the first time he’s ever seen daybreak in all the weeks that he’s spent in the castle.

Curious, he says, “I didn’t think your world had sunshine.”

Nightmare murmurs something noncommittal, a hand stroking Dream’s cheekbone and his eye lingering on the crown on Dream’s head before meeting his gaze. When he smiles, there’s a warmth in it that Dream can feel directly in his soul.

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

Dream’s face warms, a too-quick pulse of joy flowing through his bones. Nightmare grins at him, knowing, and Dream leans up to press a chaste, close-mouthed kiss to his teeth.

He’s here, and little by little, balance will follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to all of you following along till the very end!! 🎉
> 
> It's so wild that it's been a year and a half since I started this series ahahah It was _incredibly_ spur of the moment--in fact, it was supposed to be a oneshot!! The whole thing was based entirely in the desire for more DreamMare fics since they were so scarce.
> 
> But man... it's even harder to believe that when I started LtPH, _none_ of my friends were into Dreamtale, and it certainly wasn't something anyone followed me for. And now?? My whole TL is _filled_ with UTMV content!! I've made so many new friends and so many of my old ones are right beside me, just as hyped about these two as I am.
> 
> Honestly what meant _so_ much to me is that--despite not knowing anything about these characters--so many of you guys read what I wrote anyways, leaving messages that said you enjoyed them just based on how I wrote. ;w; It was _such_ an incredible feeling to have you all follow along with this story regardless of being familiar with the source material or not :") Thank you for always making writing fun for me and giving me the encouragement I need to keep sharing the thoughts that pile up in my head. It means the world to me <3
> 
> Till next time!! Here's to another year full of fun, exciting fics! ✨🖤💛
> 
> (And don't tell anyone, but I've got another DreamMare longfic that I'm itching to pen hahaha ;D)


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